


Play for me

by Bozleigh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of drugs, But no one takes any, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff without Plot, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock doesn't understand feelings, Sherlock doesnt understand emotions, beginning relationship, but he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bozleigh/pseuds/Bozleigh
Summary: John is pretty much done being in a one-sided relationship, but Sherlock tries his best to show John how much he does care, even if he doesn't express it.





	Play for me

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard this song and this is the scene that popped into my head and I tried to turn it coherently into words. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZR2JlDnT2l8
> 
> I do not own this song, nor the account that posted it so all credit to both Ralph Vaughn Williams and the youtube account that posted this beautiful piece. Many thank yous.
> 
> There is no explicit anything in this one, its pure fluff. There is mention of two adults sharing a bed that could be regarded as something more if you squint, and turn your head, and have a wildly active imagination. Which is why I tagged Teen and Up and not General. Just being on the safe side. But really, no overt mention of anything sexual.
> 
> I suck at tags, please let me know if I missed anything important, or need to add Squick or Trigger warnings.
> 
> Thank you :) 
> 
> Also I suck at tenses. I really tried to make everything match, but I know i missed one or two and i apologize.

John slammed his door hard when he returned to the flat, and Sherlock heard him kick his desk chair in anger. If it were any other time, Sherlock would have gone inside and talked to him, or at least told him how improbable kicking furniture was, but he sensed their relationship was already on rocky ground and some irrational part of his mind told him to stay downstairs. Which confused Sherlock as he sat on the sofa underneath the spray-painted smiley face holding his stitches.

 

The facts were as follows. The two flatmates had broken into an argument while waiting outside a small closed Cafe for Lestrade to show up at around Midnight the night before. No matter how many times he replayed the argument, Sherlock still couldn’t understand.

“Sherlock?” John had started it.

“Hm?”

“No, Sherlock look at me. Take your eyes off the paper for one moment and look at me.” Sherlock only looked up because John sounded more serious than normal, which took effort as he was both a Veteran and a Doctor, and serious seemed to be his natural tone. But something in his voice was different and Sherlock had looked.

“Alright. What could be so much more important than the West End obituaries John? The ones, may I remind you, that are the reason we are standing out here at this hour?” He shook the paper as he asked.

“Well I could name quite a few things more important than the West End obituaries but in the interest of time and the first private moment we have had in a long while I wanted to ask you something.” John paused for such a long time that Sherlock wondered if he had lost his train of thought entirely.

“Go on then.” Sherlock prompted, looking back at the paper. Maybe John had been angry he had looked away from the ‘very important’ conversation again?

“Have you even noticed I’ve gone back to sleeping in my own bedroom these days?” That question had caught Sherlock completely off guard, and he looked back up to stare at John incredulously. Had he noticed? Had HE noticed? Did John think he was that involved in his cases that let something in his own flat could change without his knowledge?

“Of course I’ve noticed John. You’ve begun having nightmares again judging by the circles under your eyes which you did not seem to have many of when you were sleeping with-” But John had cut him off there.

“Oh stop with that for one moment and try, just try to analyze the question instead of me. Sherlock…” He brought his right hand to his hip, and left hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. “Can you try, for me, to have a single human emotion and actually talk to me about this please?”

“Emotional involvement during a case is unnecessary and deter-” It was this moment that Sherlock had so much trouble piecing together. John had turned around and slammed his fist down on the table. 

“Damnit Sherlock, did you even enjoy sharing the room? Getting closer? Falling asleep next to me instead of down the stairs? Did the three months that we spent on dinner dates and dodging Mycroft’s calls and ignoring Lestrade’s raised eyebrows really mean absolutely nothing to you? Can you really turn it off. That. Easily?!” John was nearly shouting. 

Sherlock took in the anger and the pain in John’s face and found himself actually considering the last three months he spent with John in contrast with the first three years, rather than keeping his head on the mysterious deaths in this area. Yes it had been different, if not confusing, but John had never asked anything of him so he had let it progress naturally. From the meals where they didn’t discuss cases, to John’s broken leg -forcing him to sleep on the couch, meaning most nights John had fallen asleep with his head in Sherlocks lap- which naturally transitioned to sharing Sherlock’s bed. Even after the cast was off. Sherlock had assumed it was because having another body in the bed helped with John’s nightmares, and so it had. When John found Sherlock’s fresh cocaine stash in the Skull, he had begin sleeping in his own room again and Sherlock assumed it was because his nightmares had gone away on their own accord.

“John I dont under-” John turned around and began to walk away then. 

“Forget it then. It doesn’t matter. If you don’t care then my mistake. I wont bring it up again, things can go back to normal.” Sherlock had actually reached his hand out to touch John's shoulder, but Lestrade had pulled up and raised his eyebrows again so Sherlock left it. For John’s sake. It was only a few hours later when he woke up in the hospital with two poisoned arrow wounds being dressed by a local doctor that Sherlock saw the pain still there on John’s face. John had said things would go back to normal and yet here he was, still hurt by something. And the most puzzling thing for Sherlock was, the case was still unfinished and he was more concerned with his blogger than the dead bodies. 

 

So Sherlock sat on the sofa holding his stitches considering the past few months, while John kicks furniture upstairs. He contemplates as the sun goes down. He contemplates as the moon rises, and as it falls. When he comes back to himself as the sun rises again he finds has no clearer idea than when he first began. He decides there is no other thing for it but to talk to John, as clearly this is a puzzle with more pieces than he has access to. He slowly makes his way upstairs but finds John’s door open. 

“John?” He called to no answer. He knocked on the open door but still, no answer. He was about to return downstairs when something on John’s desk caught his eye. An ad from the same paper he had been reading two days before with the obituaries in it. It was turned to a different page with a book haphazardly thrown on top of it; the London Classifieds. One ad is circled in red ink disappearing under the book, and Sherlock can just make out “One Bedroom Flat… 1,200/month in addition to… No pets allowed…”

Sherlock cocked his head and stood still. Was John looking for a new apartment? How long had he been looking? Is that what the fight was really about the day before? Sherlock walked back down to the kitchen to make tea and think. He does hate questions he can’t answer. 

 

John returns home before sunset and passes Sherlock without looking at him. He turns up the stairs and slams his door again. For the first time, Sherlock realizes how close he may be to actually losing John, and something tugs in his chest. Not necessarily a longing, but a feeling is there. And as he stands in the kitchen he realizes he may not be able to stop it. Perhaps he’s done too much already. The kettle whistles but Sherlock doesn't hear it. He needs help, and his Skull is going to help him. As he reaches for the drugs however, his eye catches his violin. It has a thin layer of dust on the case, and Sherlock realizes its been over a month since he’s picked it up. He turns mid-reach and picks up the instrument instead. After a few tightened strings, he faces the windows and begins to play. He doesn’t even know what he’s playing at first, but the melody comes so naturally he just follows the muscle memory. About a minute in, he recognizes it as A Lark Ascending, one of John’s favorite pieces. 

And he closes his eyes, and plays for John.

 

JOHNS POV

 

The super of the flat across town had been nice, and it was a quiet enough street that he could go to and from the hospital down the road without really bumping into many people very keen to chat. John sits on his bed, suitcases laid out before him empty and open on the floor, and he stares at them with misty eyes. 

“Am I really considering leaving?” He asks the empty cases. “Leaving him?” He stands up and begins to pace. “And look at me now, talking to empty cases all because the man I love is incapable of truly feeling anything for me past what manipulations he can conjure up…” He sat back down on the bed and put his head in his hands. To his surprise, he hears something he hasn’t heard in quite a long while. Sherlock playing the violin downstairs. And it sounds like John’s favorite tune. He opens the door to hear better and sure enough, there it is. The memory of the first time he heard it came flooding back, to the warm day Sherlock had played it for him. The first time Sherlock had played anything for anyone other than his own self.

John ambles downstairs and sits in his chair behind Sherlock and listens. 

And the fight doesn't matter anymore, because Sherlock is playing him music again. John sits for the whole 15 minutes listening to the violin. When Sherlock ends, he lowers his arms to his sides and stares out the window, feeling John’s eyes on him. 

“I’m not entirely sure what it is that I’ve done. But I’m sorry for the pain I read in your face John.”

 

“Play it again, would you? But this time, will you face me?” So Sherlock turns, and he plays. 

And John sits and watches the man he loves, try his best to love him back.


End file.
